childhood

I have been trying for the past couple of days to try to develop a more positive attitude in the mornings. I still think this is worth the effort and may be helpful to some degree. But, after reading this quote today (from Grace to Survive), I realize that at the same time I must not condemn myself for feeling badly. This is what I was doing. Seeing it as another shortcoming in myself. Seeing it as a sign of weakness. I am not hard on other people; I need to stop being so hard on myself. Compassion is not pity. It is empathy with understanding I think. So, tomorrow morning I will not berate myself. Instead, I will remember that the pain is not my fault and accept it, yet gently invite myself to think upon the good and even wonderful things that life has to offer.

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I made a promise to myself many years ago to pursue reality. I was in an emotionally and mentally abusive marriage at the time. Denial had been my coping mechanism; that and pretending that he was an alien from another planet to explain his cold-heartedness and lack of empathy. It’s taken years to see the full arsenal of weapons he used. Also, to fully appreciate that it was a deliberate choice on his part and not something he couldn’t help. At times, I have felt stupid for having been fooled. But these realizations were nothing compared to recovering the memories of rape and incest I experienced as a child and teenager. Despite the heartbreak of finding out that my father was not the good and loving man that I loved, I still would choose reality. Those that have been abused live in a different reality though. The world does not make sense. Life does not make sense. Parents and people are not to be trusted.

Family is often not a good word but a term that is filled with pain. But, with good therapy and good friends, (and kind pets – I must add) small steps can be taken to start to engage with your fellow humans and stop expecting the worse. Still I feel, at times, that I have come from a different planet than many of the people I know. And I wonder sometimes if others can sense that I am different. Sure, I try to fit in and laugh along at the jokes. So often though, it is a huge act. There’s a feeling of isolation that crops up suddenly sometimes. Because I don’t talk about my past to the majority of the populace. Its a secret that I carry around. A secret that has been kept so long, since childhood. This disconnection from other people is part of my reality.

But, reality is the price that I paid for not going mad. As I slowly wake in the mornings after a night of strange dreams, I check in to see if I am still sane. I usually am not sure I am till after two cups of coffee and reading through my fellow bloggers latest blogs. I then start to notice the world around me. I hear planes overhead, bird calls and see whether the sun is out or hiding. Its another day. Another day for learning new ways to live and accepting the reality of now with both it’s blessings and challenges. Reality can be both bad and good; there is darkness and light. And just for today, I will try to embrace the goodness in this world.

“The aftereffects of Post-Incest Syndrome are not ‘problems’ to be ‘overcome’, but coping mechanisms that have negative side-effects. By attaching the concept of ‘disorder’ to these consequences, we damn the incest survivor to weakness instead of attributing to her the strength of spirit, creativity, and endurance that she deserves–that she has earned.”

My imaginary friend refused to grow up. She is still five years old. She is still trying to have the childhood she never had. Severely abused, but safe now, she wants a life of bright colors and laughter. Tears of relief are okay too. Her name is simply Little One. She plays with her own dolls that are no longer taken from her. They have tea parties with sugared tea and many smiles. Watercolors, her own watercolors, are taped upon every wall. These pictures that she has painted of her dolls, stuffed animals and her new Mom adorn the room. I am her Mom and I love Little One with all my heart. I do my best to try to make up for her years of sadness and hurt. She is sad less and less and even dances sometimes. Can you see her spinning about with her dress twirling as she laughs?

Her imaginary room has a bay window with long, soft curtains that move in the breeze from the open window. Sitting there, Little One basks in the feeling of being safe. Safe to be. Safe to be little.

I’ve got good news and bad news for you kiddo. Pimples aren’t forever is the good news. Tough times will continue but the abuse will end. You will cut the ties with your awful parents. The other good news is that you get to have a great kid. Just the one, but he’s enough. That’s right — a son. He is funny and smart and loving and you have all kinds of joys raising him. Your husband? Oh… well…you’ve had two so far. You’re not exactly lucky in love. Sorry about that. But you have good friends — some you even know right now! No, I’m not telling who, I want it to be a surprise. Your sister and you are still close and she has a daughter who grows up to be a published poet. Yeah, really. You? You become a reading tutor and also teach in preschools. You adore children and love your work. All that playing school years ago becomes your passion. When do the pimples go away? Ha! – in a couple of years. But you get to have some nice boyfriends with pimples so its okay. No, you don’t marry any of your junior high or high-school sweethearts. No, you never date Jimmy B. who you roped and kissed in kindergarten. You are boy-crazy, aren’t you?